Gatsby
by Leefreak
Summary: "I looked across the water and noticed that there was a bright green light on the other side. I was completely captivated by the sight and couldn't help but wonder if this was The Gatsby that Jordan had spoken of. Something told me that he was. When I looked back once more for Gatsby he had vanished, and I was alone in the bitter darkness " (Please review)
1. New York Culture

My mother always told me that in life, we should not dream of the future, but instead concentrate on the present moment. For as long as I could remember these words flouted around in my mind. I never really understood them because you see, ever since I was a little girl I had formulated an idea of what exactly I wanted my life to be. And in this life I would require three things; me, myself and New York.

* * *

It was 1922 when I finally left the windy city. I had liked Chicago but it was never enough to satisfy my hunger for city life. The train ride to New York was long and hot. I was dressed in my finest clothes, from my Chanel shoes to my diamond earrings. My blonde hair was pulled up tight into a bun to hide the fact that I was unable to part with my long locks to wear it in the much more fashionable bob. Basically, the idea was that if you were a free-liberated woman then you sported your hair in this short style. I however, had found it hard to believe that a hair style would somehow transform me into a self-reliant woman. But still, being nineteen years old in New York City, I was afraid of not being taken seriously so I decided to wear my hair up hoping that it would fool others into believing that I was more sophisticated.

Within the first five hours of the ride I had pulled out my compact at least ten times to perfect my makeup and analyze each inch of my face. Coming from Chicago I was considered to be an acceptable person. I had successful friends, I was the top in my class and I came from a moderately wealthy family. But in all of this success I still couldn't shake the fear of not measuring up.

By the time I had finally arrived to the city I was eager to get some rest that the train ride unwillingly did not allow me to have but I had promised my cousin Daisy that I would stop by for dinner. I had rented a small house in one of the strangest communities in North America. Twenty miles from New York City I lived in the less fashionable west egg. Across the bay, millionaires hid themselves away in their palaces. Invisible to me that first day, there was a mysterious figure on one side and a flickering green light on the other.

Before I headed off to join the Buchanan's for supper I had spent a good hour or so contemplating on what I should do with the interior of the house. The place was an eyesore. But at least it was a small eyesore, and it gave me a view of the water, a partial view of my neighbor's lawn and the consoling proximity of millionaires-all for eighty dollars a month. As I began to sweep up the coat of dust that covered the wooden floor of the living room I heard a knock at my door. I paused for a moment wondering if there was some miscommunication about the location of tonight's dinner plans. As I made my way to the door I silently prayed for anyone other than Daisy and her husband to be standing at my door step. When I opened the door I was caught completely off guard. There stood a man on my doorstep in a black suit and bow tie. He was an older gentleman and he spoke with a thick French accent.

"Miss. Carraway?" The man asked.

"Yes?"

"I am Mr. Moreau. The Buchanan resistance has sent me here to pick you up and return you to their home for dinner." I looked over Mr. Moreau's shoulder to the dirt path that was my drive way. Sure enough, right beside my rented and rusted audio mobile was a flashy blue coupe.

I sat in the back of the vehicle and watched as my small little home disappeared into the distance. I had only formally met Daisy once at a Christmas party that my parents had thrown. I was only nine at the time while Daisy was twenty four. My mother introduced us, we said hello and that was as deep as our relationship had gone. I had only contacted her ten years later because I knew that she had lived here for quite some time and that her and her husband had established a fine name for themselves. I was a bit taken aback by her eagerness to hear from me because frankly I had expected her to have forgotten me. Daisy has been married to Tom for thirteen years now and has since been drifting aimlessly among the rich in France. She had told me over the telephone that this was to be a permanent move, but I didn't believe her.

Tom was who greeted me at the door. He shook my hand and told me that I was much younger than he had expected. He led me to the living room where I saw Daisy and another woman both lying on the enormous white couches. Suddenly a gust of wind came though the opened windows and blew up all of the sheer white curtains. Quickly all of the Buchanan's butlers rushed over to shut the windows.

"Nicole, I am paralyzed with happiness." Daisy said, extending her small hand towards mine. I took her hand and she rose up and spun me around slowly. 'My goodness you've grown up."

I smiled, secretly happy that someone thought that I was grown.

"Say hello to Jordan Baker. She's a pro golfer" Daisy said.

Jordan was a breed of woman that I had never seen in Chicago. She wore her fine brunette hair in that short trendy way and her lipstick in the brightest shade red.

"Hello, Miss. Baker." I reached out to shake her hand but she only stretched her arms out above her head and ignored me. Embarrassed, I shook off her rudeness and turned my attention back at Daisy.

"So how are things in Chicago? Do they miss me?" She asked.

"There's been a persistent wail of mourning along the north shore ever since you left." I said "They just keep screaming "Daisy! Why did you leave us?!" I said this in my most dramatic voice possible. Daisy found my act historical and began to laugh.

"Now, please forgive me ladies for cutting into your conversation but dinner is ready and I refuse to eat my food cold." Tom joked, with a charming smile.

Once we found our seats at the table Daisy began discussing life in New York with me. I had found that Daisy spoke of her life as if she was painting a picture. Each piece of it, her wealth, her house and her marriage all formed together into a perfect image that she constantly wanted to display. And I was in completely awe of all of it.

"Oh, Nicole it's absolutely wonderful." Daisy said to me, gently placing her small hand on my arm. "Only New York has the finest cars, the finest people and especially the finest parties."

"Tom just threw a party this past weekend for a charity event. It was all the talk of East Egg." Daisy said smiling over at her husband, who sat at the opposite end of the long table. I had never met Tom before today but I had known that he hailed from a socially solid family. Tom had strangely become quiet once we began dinner so Jordan decided to chime in.

"-Pssfff-'Being all the "talk" of East Egg doesn't mean anything anymore, darling." She said as she blew a puff of cigarette smoke out of the side of her mouth. She leaned in a bit closer, as if to tell Daisy a secret. "If you really want to see a party you'll have to cross over to West Egg and go to one of Gatsby's parties."

"Gatsby? What Gatsby?" Daisy asked curiously. But before any of us could speak another word the loud shrill of the telephone sounded from the other room. Everyone went silent as one of many Buchanan butlers quickly walked over and answered it. Suddenly the door opened and the butler spoke, looking over at Tom.

"Mr. Buchanan it is Mr. Wilson…"

Tom immediately excused himself and went on to take the call. I began to ask Jordan more about this Gatsby but was cut off.

"shhh" Jordan hissed at me as she slightly tilted her head to the door, informing me that we were listening. As we listened I watched Daisy's face fall into a mixture of sorrow and anger. Finally, Daisy stood from her seat, whispered an apology and strutted off to the other room. Once she was out of sight Jordan leaped from her chair and practically skipped over to the door.

"What is happening?" I asked.

"Toms got some woman in New York." She said, pressing her ear to the door. "I thought everyone knew by now. You surprised?"

"I'm more surprised by the fact that everyone knows. Daisy doesn't mind?"

Jordan laughed and then gave out a low sigh "Of course she minds, dear. But this is New York. Every married man has a girl in the city. By now It's like New York culture."

I tried hard to try to digest what Jordan had said. I found it hard to believe that this type of thing was the New York norm. Did Daisy and her other female friends all get together for Sunday brunch and discuss Tom's woman and all of their husbands women?

"You'd think she'd have the decency not to telephone him at dinner time, huh?" Jordan said with a shrug before returning to pick at her salad with her fork.

We were now listening quietly as Daisy screamed at Tom to get off the phone and to stop being so rude to their guest. There was a silent pause and then the sound of the phone being set down. Tom and Daisy returned to their places at the table like the whole scene had never happened. I sat there feeling awkward and uncomfortable with how nonchalant everyone was acting. I took a bite of my salad and chewed it slowly.

"Oh, look I hurt it." We all looked over at Daisy who was staring down at her red pinkie finger. "Tom did it." She said peering over at him with a slight smile.

Tom dropped his soup filled spoon back into the bowl and gave her a disapproving look.

"What?" She said, laughing. "You did do it even though you didn't mean to. That's what I get for marrying a brute like you; a great, big, hulking specimen of a man." She took a sip of her red wine and Tom sighed.

"I hate the word hulking." He said, bringing his spoon back up to his lips.

Daisy grasped her glass of wine back in her fingers. Before she took another sip she smiled at Tom and simply said. "Hulking." Once more.

"You're from the Midwest. Can't you distract us with some insights about crops?" Jordan said to me, obviously bored with Daisy and Toms back and forth.

"You want some insight?" Tom said in a now more serious tone. "Civilization is going to pieces. Have you read _the rise of the colored empire_? Everyone should read it."

Daisy leaned in, her hand at my shoulder. "We've got to beat them down" She whispered with a wink.

"The idea is.." Tom continued "that it's up to us, the dominant race to watch out or these other races will have control of things." Tom said effectively changing the subject.

"So, Nicole, What brings you here to New York?" Jordan asked me, apparently not enthused about Tom's interest in literature either.

"well.." I began "I came here hoping to find a job writing for a newspaper. Coming to New York has always been a dream of mine."

Tom laughed slightly "Writing, huh? Sounds like a lot of work for little pay."

"Tom.." Daisy snapped in a warning tone.

"Oh, no it's fine." I said to Daisy, waving off her concern "And sadly true. I guess you just have to have a passion for it."

Tom smiled, seeming to find my response amusing.

Daisy placed her hand on my arm once more. I was beginning to realize that this was something Daisy did when she wanted your absolute attention "I love having you here in my home, Nicole. You remind me of a rose. An absolute rose isn't she?" She said to everyone at the table.

"Oh, please Daisy. You're just absolutely in love with the fact that she looks just like you." Jordan said, lighting another cigarette.

Daisy paused and looked at me for a moment and then smiled. "You think so?" She asked, joyously.

"Absolutely.." Jordan continued. "If Nicole was just a few inches taller and a few more pounds lighter you two could be twins." She finished her insult with a blow of cigarette smoke in my face. She smiled at me just before taking a long drink of her wine, finishing it off. Daisy awkwardly cleared the throat as if it would somehow clear the new tension in the room. I wanted to confront Jordan but I didn't know what to say. I had never dealt with bullying and I wasn't exactly sure what I did to deserve it from her now. Tom took it upon himself to step in.

"Now now, ladies. We are all sophisticated people here." He said as he signaled with a wave of his hand for the butlers to begin clearing the table. Once our plates were taken away Jordan removed herself from the group and made her way to Daisy's couch for a nap. Tom offered to call me up a cab and as he did Daisy linked her arm with mine and began to walk us through the yard.

"I feel like I hardly know you at all." Daisy said. "You didn't even come to my wedding, you know."

"I had finals that weekend. I sent you a card and gift with best wishes." I told her with an apologetic smile.

She squeezed my arm slightly. "I suppose that's true."

Once we reached the tall iron fence that surrounded the house Daisy unlinked her arm from mine. We both stood there for a moment in silence as we watched the passing cars from the road. There was a strange abundance of them passing through. The sight of all of the people squeezed into their small cars reminded me of some clowns that I had seen at the circus some years ago. The cars swerved, almost crashing into each other. Everyone, including the drivers had their heads out of the windows laughing at the top of their lungs. The presence of alcohol was obviously apparent. We could not only smell the liquor from the house but everyone was proudly waving their bottles in their hands.

I began to laugh "Looks like quite a party down there."

Daisy did not join me in my amusement.

"I've had a very bad time, Nicole." Daisy finally said, as she still looked off to the cars ahead. "I'm pretty cynical about everything. Everything's terrible anyhow. At least, everyone thinks so. And I know, I've been everywhere, seen everything and done everything."

She finally looked at me and tried to fake a smile. "What was the word Tom used earlier? Oh right, "sophisticated" My God, I'm so sophisticated."

Before I could even begin to think of what to say I was saved by Tom calling out to us from the front door. He informed the both of us that there were no more cabs available tonight due to everyone needing a sober ride home from a party across town. I was slightly relieved when Tom offered to give me a ride home. I was exhausted and frankly was beginning to get a headache from all of the excitement.

Daisy gave me a tight hug and a kiss on the cheek before Tom and I drove off. Traffic was awful and everyone was yelling at each other. I could have even sworn that I saw a liquor bottle that had been thrown almost hit the windshield. The whole car ride Tom asked me questions about myself. After a while I was beginning to feel a bit conceded from constantly talking about myself. Tom seemed to be especially intrigued with my age. I explained to him that I was mature and I would not let my age define me. He nodded, seeming to agree with my statement.

By the time we finally reached my house I was thankful that it was dark enough outside so he could not see how pathetic it was. The last thing I wanted was for Tom to go back home and tell Jordan and Daisy about the mess I live in. Tom walked me to the door, telling me that it was too dark and I could trip. I thanked him for his kindness.

"Thank you for taking me home." I said as I unlocked my front door.

"Oh, no problem." Tom said with a small smile on his face. "You know, Daisy and I were talking and we'd love to take you out soon to show you around the city."

"Really?" I asked. Again I was taken by surprise by the couple's kindness.

Tom's smile grew. "Yes, of course. You're family after all."

I felt a sudden rush of excitement fill my body. I wanted jump for joy but decided to wait until I was in the privacy of my own home to do so. I thanked Tom and told him to tell Daisy that I was looking forward from hearing from them. That night I laid in my bed feeling restless. I decided to grab a flashlight and go for a walk down by the bay. The summer air felt good as the wind blew against my pale skin. As I made my way towards the water I noticed that the one of the two mansions that my house was squeezed between had all of its lights on. Being the nosy woman that I was I began to walk closer to the mountainous home. As I grew closer I noticed a mysterious figure standing at the end of the dock. I began to walk towards it and soon realized that the figure was a man. I watched as he reached out his hand to the other end of the bay. I could have sworn that he was trembling. I looked across the water and noticed that there was a bright green light on the other side. I was completely captivated by the sight and couldn't help but wonder if this was The Gatsby that Jordan had spoken of. Something told me that he was. When I looked back once more for Gatsby he had vanished, and I was alone in the bitter darkness.


	2. Daisy! Daisy! Daisy!

Between West egg and New York there was a field and in this large field ashes grew like wheat plants, into ridges and grotesque gardens; where ashes took form of houses and finally, of men who moved dimly and already crumbling though the air. The Valley of Ashes was bounded on one side by a small foul river. When the drawbridge was up the people that indignantly waited in their cars looked at the dismal scene for about a half hour or so. And it was because of this that Tom had decided that I good way to pass the time would be to for me to meet his mistress. Of course, Daisy was "unfortunately" able to join Tom and I. I was a little taken aback when Tom showed up at my door step without Daisy but I was wearing my favorite blue dress and I was eager to see the city. I however, was not eager to meet this mistress. I felt like a snake that was sneaking behind Daisy's back. But I began to wonder, was it sneaking when Daisy knew of this women and did nothing about it?

I had to admit that I was curious to see her; I had no desire of meeting her-but I did. I followed tom along a whitewashed railroad fence. The only building in sight was a small block of yellow brick that had made my house look like one of the fabulous mansions it was placed between. Tom led me inside. The interior of the building was bear with the exception of a crushed up old Ford Motel-T in the corner. The owner of the building appeared by the door of an office, wiping his oil stained hands on his worn overalls. When he saw Tom and me a hint of hope glistened in his eyes.

"Hello, Mr. Wilson, old man." Tom said, jovially slapping him on the shoulder. "How's business?"

"Can't complain." Wilson answered unconvincingly. "When are you going to sell me that car?"

Tom sighed. "Next week. I've got my man working on it."

"Works pretty slow, don't he?"

"No he doesn't." Tom said coldly. "And if that's the way you feel then I guess I can just tell him to forget about it."

"I didn't mean that-" He tried to explain quickly.

"Forget about it." Tom snapped. Suddenly it grew unbearingly quiet and it was like Wilson had just noticed my presence.

"Tom, who is this gorgeous young lady?" Wilson asked, immediately removing his hat, exposing a bald spot on the top of his head. I blushed at his compliment.

Before I could introduce myself Tom stepped in and did it for me. "This is Nicole Carraway. She just moved here yesterday. She's an aspiring writer."

Mr. Wilson did not reply but instead continued to stare at me like I was some diamond he had found in the ashes of the valley. I awkwardly looked around the garage. Then I heard the noise of footsteps coming down a flight of stairs. Suddenly the silhouette of a thicker woman appeared, blocking out the light from the office door. She was in her mid-thirties and her face held no gleam of beauty but there was something about the way she carried herself that made her body seem like she was constantly smoldering.

She immediately locked her dark brown eyes with mine. I felt a chill go down my spine. She smiled slowly and made her way over to Tom, bumping her shoulder with mine and completely ignoring her husband. She wet her red lips and without breaking her gaze from Tom and she told her husband in a course voice:

"George, get some chairs for our guest, won't you?"

"Sure." He said. George Wilson quickly made his way to the back of the garage. As soon as the door shut behind him Tom's mistress turned to me.

"Who's this?" She asked Tom in an accusing tone.

"Myrtle…" Tom said. "This is Nicole Carraway. I thought that we could show her around the city."

"She's Daisy's cousin.." Tom added quickly.

"_So this was Toms plan all along…"_ I thought silently to myself.

Myrtle rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to Tom. "Now you want to take me out to the city? What about yesterday when I wasn't even good enough to keep a conversation with on the telephone?"

Tom grasped myrtle's hands in his and pulled her closer to him. I looked away feeling odd watching them together. "I'll make it up to you, my dear. I'll take you anywhere you want to go and buy you anything you want to wear."

A small smile played across myrtle's thin lips. "Alright" She said.

"I'll meet you by the news stand on the lower level."

She nodded and moved away from Tom just as George returned to the room with some chairs from his office.

We waited for Myrtle in the car just down the street and out of sight. I looked over outside the window and saw a small child walking bare foot along the railroad. The Child's face was covered in dust and dirt.

"Horrible place, isn't it?" Tom said.

"terrible."

"It does her good to get away."

"Mr. Wilson doesn't mind?" I asked.

Tom began to laugh. "You kidding? George thinks that she's visiting her sister in the city. He's so dumb that he doesn't even know that he's alive!"

Before I could get another word in Myrtle was suddenly in both mine and Tom's lap as she reached over to kiss Tom passionately on the lips. I was beginning to realize that today was going to be the longest day of my life.

Once Myrtle came up for air, Tom and his mistress and I made our way our way together to the city. Tom had apparently been living a whole separate life in an apartment that both him and Myrtle shared whenever they got together. The apartment, its furnishings and Myrtle's red dress had all been paid for by Tom. Somehow, I did not understand, Tom thought that all of this would impress me.

"So, uh…I should really get going. I feel like I shouldn't be here " I said as I reached for my black hand-bag. Tom had informed me that he and Myrtle were expecting guests in about a half hour. I already felt that I was drifting alone in the sea of confusion that was New York. I didn't want to drown any further.

"Don't leave just yet." interposed Tom. "Myrtle will be hurt if you don't meet her brother."

Myrtle linked her arm with mine and said. "Please stay. My brother is a successful photographer. And I have heard from many respectable people that he is very good looking."

I understood what Myrtle was trying to do. She would have set me up with anyone as long as it kept me away from Tom. What Myrtle didn't understand was that I couldn't wait to get as far away from Tom as I possibly could. Even though I resisted, Tom and Myrtle had convinced me to stay long enough to just have a couple drinks. I was under age but I figured that a couple wouldn't hurt. I had only been drunk twice in my life and my first time was that afternoon.

"You know, it's his wife that's keeping my sister and Tom apart. Neither of them can't stand who they're married to." I had somehow found myself listening to Myrtle's brother go on about how Daisy was ruining his sisters chance at happiness with Tom. I had already forgotten his name five seconds after he had introduced himself. He was a handsome man but I had found that he had an undesirable habit of staring at my breast as he talked.

"Can't they." I replied dully.

He took a sip of his scotch. "It's a shame Catholics don't believe in divorce."

I shook my head. I swear I could feel my brain rattle. "Tom's wife isn't catholic."

Myrtle's brother pursed his lips and stopped to think for a moment. Then he simply shrugged and replied. "oh."

As the party went on I found myself meeting more people than I had anticipated. We all were horribly drunk and we were all laughing at the dumbest things. All of the men crowded around me, each of them handing me more drinks than I could handle. Unbeknownst to me, most of these men were married and their wives crowded in the corners of the room telling stories about me. They hadn't even known my name.

Somehow Myrtle and I had slowly drifted from the crowd together. We had both found ourselves big comfortable chairs and sat next to each other. As we both downed ourselves in more whisky and vodka she began to tell me the story of how her and Tom had met. I was half listening and half wondering when this weird feeling would wear off. All I had gathered from the story was that they had met on a train ride and everything was completely innocent until she felt Tom's hand on her rum. Myrtle' took the bold gesture in stride and they both met at a motel later that day to continue what Tom had started. Myrtle' insisted that Tom couldn't stop talking about how unhappy he was with Daisy and she felt that she shared Tom's pain with the way she felt about George. They both decided that when the time was right that they would run away together. The only problem was that Myrtle' practically had her bags packed for a little over a year now while Tom still lived with Daisy like a happy husband. I figured that the apartment and other luxuries Tom bought for Myrtle' was his way of making up for not keeping his promise.

After Myrtle' told me her story we both shared a cigarette; passing it back and forth. Once she finished it off she made her way back to her guest and began to schmooze. I looked around the room but had to stop due to the fact that the floors seemed to be spinning. Somehow in my drunken haze I saw Tom and Myrtle off in the distance. Tom's shirt was buttoned down, exposing his stained undershirt that was drenched in his own whiskey scented sweat. I was laying on a love seat in the living room trying my best to keep my breakfast down. I watched as Tom yelled something at Myrtle and how he stormed off towards the room I was in. Myrtle hopelessly followed in a hysteric rage.

"Daisy." She said. Tom stopped abruptly and looked at Myrtle with crazed eyes.

"Daisy! Daisy! Daisy!" Myrtle screamed. Her face was soaked from tears. "I'll say it anytime I want!"

And just like that Toms back hand hit Myrtle's face so hard that the force sent her flying across the room. Tom had broken her nose. There were bloody towels everywhere and everyone in the room crowded around Myrtle to comfort her. I could hear Myrtle wailing in pain. I looked over back at Tom who was now pinned up against a wall by Myrtle's brother. I had decided in that second that it was time for me to go. I made my way out of the building, stumbling in my four inch heels. I was incredibly tired and found it extremely difficult to keep my eyes open.

"_What time is it anyway?"_ I thought.

Somehow along the way I had found myself lost in an unfamiliar neighborhood. I had tried hailing a cab but none of them had stopped for me. I watched as groups of people tried their best to ignore me when I asked them for directions. Some of them even laughed in my face. I was beginning to feel tears well up in the corners of my eyes. I had dreamed of New York City my whole life and I couldn't believe that this was how it was turning out. I kept thinking over and over again in my head about what my mother would say about the choices I've made so far. In all of my scenarios she had disowned me and never spoke of me again.

I found an uncomfortable wooden bench somewhere along an empty street. I sat there for twenty minutes trying to debate whether or not to go back to the party and take my chances with Myrtle's brother for a ride home. Before I had made a decision a car had pulled up next to me and a man began to speak.

"Are you alright there, miss?" He asked me. I turned my face away not wanting him to see me crying. I had already embarrassed myself enough for one night.

"Yes, yes I'm fine. Now please leave." I snapped. I buried my face in my hands as I burst out into another round of tears. Through my muffled cries I barley heard the man as he tried his best to say nice things to calm me. I looked up to see the cars passenger door open, waiting for me to take a seat. I looked over at the man again. It was dark and there weren't hardly enough street lights. I tried to see the man's face but there was a shadow cast perfectly on him.

"Please let me take you home and out of these streets. You live in West egg, right?"

"Do I know you?" I asked, inquisitive.

"Of course not, miss. You've failed to ever show up at one of my parties." I could hear a hint of teasing in his voice.

I thought for a moment and then decided that I'd rather be chopped up into a million pieces by a stalker than return to Toms apartment. I remember hearing the stranger trying to talk to me once i sat down but his voice slowly faded out as I slipped into a dreamless sleep. When I awoke that next morning I had found myself in my bed still wearing my favorite pink dress and heels. I frantically tried to recall the events of that night but all I could remember was Myrtle's screaming and the horrifying amount of blood when Tom had hit her. As I looked up from my bed at my bedroom ceiling I began to feel an overwhelming amount of disgust. I loathed myself for being a part of Tom and Myrtle's shameless display in the city. All I wanted to do that day was sleep my hangover away but I was meeting with the local newspaper for a job interview. I was about to walk out my front door to leave when I noticed an unsealed envelope on my kitchen table. I opened it up and there was a letter that read:

_The honor would_

_be entirely mine if you_

_would attend a little party next Saturday._

_ Jay Gatsby_

I suddenly felt a rush of unease. I was in complete discomposure thinking of how this message had found it's way in my home. I tried hard to recall last nights events once more but at that moment thinking just gave me a headache. I wondered if I should confront this Gatsby Saturday at the party. I took the letter with me, stuffing it in my black purse and continued on to the New Republic building in the dreadful city.


	3. Close Acquaintances

I had waited anxiously by my phone that whole week to hear back on my interview with the local newspaper. But the only call I had received from Tom. He had called me Wednesday to ask me if I had any plans for the holiday weekend. Tom and Daisy were throwing a party and he had insisted that he had spared no expense on the fireworks and that it was bound to be a great time. I told him that I would have to regretfully decline his invitation due to the fact that I had already had plans.

The second that I had put down the phone I had felt sick to my stomach. Hearing Tom's voice on the other line had brought back a flood of memories that I just wanted to forget. I began to wonder if Mytell had forgiven Tom for the broken nose. For Daisy's sake I hoped that she hadn't spoken to him since. The only thing that seemed to retain these thoughts was my curiousness over Gatsby's party. On Saturday I had watched dozens of trucks parked in front of Gatsby's spill out dozens of more men as lifted crates filled with fruits and liquor into the house. By seven o'clock the orchestra had arrived, no five-piece affair, but a whole pitful of oboes and trombones and saxophones and viols and cornets and piccolos, and low and high drums. The lavish backyard shined brightly with enough lights in the trees and bushes to replace each star in the night sky. Dressed in a form fitting white dress and a pair of plush pink heels I made my way over to Gatsby's. I wore my hair up, as usual, but with a few strands down in little waves that framed my face.

I made an attempt to find my host, but the three or four people who I had asked his whereabouts stared at me in such an amazed way, and then denied any knowledge of his movements. I also found myself feeling completely baffled by their reaction when I had asked if they had also received an invitation. They had just laughed and swiftly made their way as far away from me as possible. Feeling a bit flustered I slunk off over to the dance floor and listened as the music filled me. It had been so long since I had heard music as marvelous as the compositions that played that night. I watched as couples and friends danced together. They all laughed and drank their liquor in such complete happiness that it brought a smile to my face. I was beginning to feel my faith in the beauty that was New York redeem itself that night.

"I never thought that I'd see you here." I instantly felt my jaw clench tightly.

"You lost?" she added sarcastically.

"Hello Miss Baker." I turned to face the brunette monster with a fake smile on my face.

Jordan blew out of a breath of cigarette smoke, this time avoiding my face. That night she sported a loose fitted black dress that swallowed her small frame. Her glass filled some sort of liquor had a red lipstick stain at the rim.

"My God, drop the formalities. We're at a party!" She exclaimed. "Call me Jordan." I nodded, feeling my face turn red. I shouldn't have wanted to impress her. But I did. Though I hated the way she had treated me I envied the way she carried herself with such grace and composer.

"So, um…Jordan…" it felt weird to say it out loud. "What brings you here?"

She gave me a look like I was insane and then laughed softly to herself.

"What brings me here? Well, the party of course. The lights, the music, the people and the drinks are what bring me here."

I reached into my purse, pulled out my invitation then handed to Jordan. She snatched it from my hand and read it. Her thin brows furrowed in confusion.

"So, I take it that you didn't receive a letter either?"

"Who gave you this?" Her tone was thick with curiosity.

I shrugged. "The letter said it was from Jay Gatsby so I assumed that-"

Jordan cut me off. "No Nicole, Who physically delivered this invitation to you?"

"No one" I replied.

"No one?"

"No. Well, I mean someone did but I don't know who. I just sort of woke up and it was there in my kitchen." I explained quickly. "What's the big deal?"

"The big deal is that no one has ever been invited to a Gatsby party." She said this matter-of-factly as she handed the letter back to me.

"Well, I was hoping to find him. Where is he?" I asked feeling slightly irritated. A handsome man who was standing near both Jordan and I with a group of his friends suddenly turned our way.

"I wouldn't get too close to Mr. Gatsby, Miss. I've heard that he's the Kaiser's assassin."

"You've got it all wrong!" One of his friends intervened. "I heard that he was a German spy during the war."

"I heard that he even killed a man once." Jordan added only mocking the group of boys for their foolish gossip. It obviously went over the men's head as they all turned back to each other in astonishment. I couldn't help but laugh. Surprisingly Jordan joined me in my enjoyment. Jordan had told me to follow her over to the bar. She had got herself and me a cocktail. We both hurriedly turned away from the bar as I took a sip. Jordan said that she didn't want to get removed from the party just because she snuck some kid some liquor. The drink tasted like mango and all sorts of other fruits. I took a mental note to not let myself get drunk again.

"So what are we celebrating?" I asked Jordan.

'That's the million dollar question." She said. "Nobody knows."

I found that I had strangely liked her answer. I imagined Gatsby spending all this money for absolutely nothing but to simply give everyone a good time. Maybe we were all here tonight to simply just celebrate life. I rose my glass to Jordan and said:

"I have an idea. How about you and I celebrate how absolutely wonderful this party is."

Jordan looked at me with her eyes slightly widened; almost seeming impressed. She smiled then clicked her glass with mine.

"I'll drink to that!" She cheered.

We brought our drinks to our lips. Jordan and I watched as everyone suddenly rushed to the dance floor when a very popular ballad began to play. Strangers found each other and danced slowly and no one found it odd. Everyone was blissfully happy. I even clapped and cheered for Jordan when the handsome man from our earlier conversation dragged her to the floor. As the bar began to empty I slowly began to realize that I was the only one left without a partner. I decided to turn my attention over to the bar and snack on some chips since Jordan was not here to buy me a drink. I may not have had a partner but I found that I was happy enough to just be here.

"You enjoying yourself?" The bartender asked me.

"Yes." I said, keeping my eyes on the graceful dancing ahead. "I actually am."

"You seem surprised." I could hear his smile in his voice.

"I guess I am." I confessed. "I've never seen anything so wonderful."

I turned back to the bowl of chips. I watched as the bartender poured a glass of champagne for himself. When he glanced up at me I had felt an electric shock go through me when I saw his piercing blue eyes. I noticed him smile at me and knew that I was red enough to look like a tomato.

"You don't dance?" The man asked me. He was still smiling and my heart was still beating a thousand times faster than normal.

"Uhm...I-um.." I couldn't think straight. "No, I'm afraid that I'm not very good."

I took a deep breath, surprised that I had gotten a complete sentence out. But unfortunately, being the fool that I am I didn't stop there.

"I mean, I guess I should be a good dancer because when I was younger my parents had paid top dollar for lessons but it never interested me. I was more interested in playing the piano. I used to even compose but I never saw it going anymore…" My voice slowly faded out. I looked down at my hands awkwardly.

"And that was my impression of a girl who shares too much personal information with strangers." I added, trying to laugh off my embarrassment. The bartender began to laugh loudly. I wondered if I should just walk away now before I made things any worse.

"I'd hardly say that we're strangers." He said, taking a drink.

I gave him a curious look. "Why's that?"

"Strangers don't make sure that their neighbors get home safely when they are hopelessly drunk and wondering the streets, Miss. I would call us close acquaintances."

Again I was lost for words. "Excuse me? What did you say?"

"Of course." He made his way around the bar, drink in hand to stand next to me. "You were pretty out of it that night you must not remember. I drove you home and made sure that you got to bed safely."

He was leaning into me and he smiled his charming smile. When he spoke I noticed that his breath smelled of a mixture of liquor and peppermint. It was intoxicating.

"You were in my house?" I replied subconsciously.

"Yes." He said, nonchalant. "How else do you think that invitation got on your kitchen table?"

"I don't even know you." I suddenly snapped at him.

Gatsby looked at me with the utmost puzzled look on his face. I knew that he had not anticipated for me to react this way. He had thought that he had done me a service but I had felt that my privacy and dignity had been severely violated.

I looked at him sternly in the eye with the tip of my index finger pressed against his chest. "What you did was completely out of line. I am an adult and that was my home and you had no right doing what you did."

"Miss Carraway, let me explain-"Gatsby softly placed his hand on my bear shoulder trying to calm me. I shook it off and back away. I could hear the music picking up as I angrily pushed my way through Mr. Gatsby and stormed off across the yard to my house. I couldn't believe that a stranger had thought that walking right into my house was acceptable. I was completely nauseated with the way people had been treating me here. Like I was too naïve to understand what was ethical or what I wanted.

"Miss Carraway!" Gatsby called from behind me. I had just made it a step into my yard when I felt a strong grip pull me. My body was suddenly forced into the clutch of Mr. Gatsby. Both of his hands were firmly holding my wrists. In my heels we were both standing eye to eye. He looked at me with deep desperation.

"Miss Carraway.." Gatsby muttered. "I'm sorry that I have offended you. Please forgive me."

"I'll forgive you when you tell me why you invited me here tonight and why it was only me." I pressed.

Gatsby finally released me from his grasp. He took a deep breath and then he finally spoke:

"I'm afraid that I am not at liberty to speak more of this now Miss. Carraway but I need your help."

"My help?" I asked, taken aback.

"Yes." He confessed. "You cannot understand it now but another time I will explain it to you."

I stared at Gatsby and took the time to take in each of the many sorrow filled emotions that filled his face. I did not know what had caused him such agony but still my heart broke for him.

"I am still upset with you. But I will help you." I decided. Gatsby's face suddenly lit up.

"Oh, thank you so much Miss. Carraway!" He exclaimed. "You will not regret this. I will do anything for you once this is through. Anything you want will be yours."

I took slight offense to this. "There's nothing that you could get me that I couldn't get for myself, Mr. Gatsby."

He quickly brought his hand to his blonde hair and pushed it back. He corrected his slumped posture then smiled his charismatic smile. He nodded. "Of course Miss. Carraway."

"I'm free tomorrow to discuss more about this favor." I told him. "We will go wherever I decide for us to go and if you object then the favor is off." I knew it was harsh but I was not going to risk another man running me all over the city.

"How's noon sound? Perhaps we could get some lunch." He said, hopeful.

"One o'clock. And lunch sounds great."

I could feel Gatsby watching me as I walked away. I did not return to the party that night but instead sat in an old wooden rocking chair that sat on the barley stable porch of my house. As Midnight approached I watched as Gatsby's guests made their way to the dock to look at the sky. Soon the ebony sky exploded with beautiful neon colors. Everyone cheered and kissed at the sight. As I looked closer I saw Gatsby at the very end of the dock. But instead of starring up at the sky with his guest he looked straight ahead across the bay. Once again there was a green flickering light at the other end. I wondered what it was about this light that had captured his attention. I decided then and there that I would do whatever it took to figure it out.


	4. Great and Powerful Gatsby

Gatsby showed up at my house at exactly one 'clock. His car was a rich cream color, bright with nickel, swollen here and there in its monstrous length with triumphant hat-boxes and supper-boxes and tool-boxes, and terraced with a labyrinth of wind-shields that mirrored a dozen suns; Sitting down behind many layers of glass in a sort of green leather conservatory. Gatsby himself sported a fine white suit topped off with a matching hat and shoes. He wore dark sunglasses that day and I was grateful because I found his light blue eyes distracting. My hair was pulled back tightly and decided to try wearing some red lipstick. When I looked in the mirror I felt sexy and sophisticated. I told Gatsby to take us to a nice coffee house that I had read about in the paper. As we drove along Gatsby began to tell me the story of his life.

"Listen Miss. Carraway, I don't want you getting the wrong idea about me." he said, as he swiftly but barely passed a man who was cycling on the street.

"So I want to tell you the truth…" He continued. "I came from a wealthy family. My parents are now dead. I was educated at Oxford because all of my ancestors were educated there. After that I lived in Europe and spent my time to myself…painting a little. I've been trying to forget something very sad that happened to me long ago."

I laughed a little and quickly tried to cover it with a cough.

"What?" Gatsby asked, turning over to me.

My cheeks reddened. "I'm sorry, it's nothing." I muttered. I felt foolish for laughing but I found it strange and oddly funny about the way Gatsby spoke, almost like he had been rehearsing this speech his whole life. His suit and glamorous car reminded me of some silly show and he knew each line to the script. It strangely all seemed familiar.

"Anyways, after that I went to war. I was stationed off with thirty other men. We went weeks without sleep or food and it poured rain each night, drowning us in mud and blood. Only ten of us made it out alive"

I nodded each time he glanced over at me. I wasn't sure if I should have responded to his statements more vocally but I decided to stay silent. When we arrived at the coffee shop almost everyone was looking at Gatsby. Women winked and smiled while the men waved and shook hands with him. Doors were opened for us and we were immediately served their specialty cup of coffee on the house.

"Look Miss. Carraway…."

"Nicole." I interrupted. "You can just call me Nicole."

Gatsby smiled a strained grin. "Yes, Nicole. Well, as I was saying…there is a favor that I need to request."

As Gatsby spoke I harshly set down my cup after taking a sip of the hot liquid. "That's why I'm here." I replied with a raw and throbbing tongue.

"I understand that Ms. Baker has made an attempt to see you later today." He said.

It was true. Yesterday, after the party was over Jordan had telephoned me asking if she could stop by for some tea to chat. Confused by her approach I hesitantly accepted and had spent most of the night cleaning the house.

"Yes. Why? Are you in love with her or something?" I joked.

Gatsby laughed out loud. "No. I'm far from in love with Mrs. Baker. She is simply an acquaintance."

"Like us?" I inquired.

"I guess so." He said with a small grin. "She has been very helpful with setting this all up."

"Setting what up?"

Before Gatsby could get another word out we were approached by a short, stout man in a blue suit. He had wrinkles all along his face and short grey hair on his head and in his ears. Gatsby stood from his seat and they shook hands.

"Mr. Wolfsheim this is Nicole Carraway." Gatsby gestured his hand over to me. I smiled and stood briefly and extended my hand out to him. He took it and kissed my knuckles. After the man and Gatsby exchanged some more words we returned to our seats. Mr. Wolfsheim grabbed a chair from another table and scooted it to our table to join us. I caught a look that had brushed across Gatsby's face that threw me off guard. It was a split second of what I could only assume was annoyance and short tempered anger with his friend. It amazed me how warm and admirable he could be and then so distasted the next. Quickly Gatsby collected himself and wore that charming smile.

"So you're looking for a connection?" Mr. Wolfsheim said, looking at me seriously.

I watched as Gatsby's eyes widened. He immediately leaned closer to whisper in Mr. Wolfsheim ear.

"She is a friend." He muttered. "We're meeting Mrs. Jackson at four."

Mr. Wolfsheim pursed his thin white lips. "I would prefer sooner."

Gatsby leaned back into his seat and smiled at me nervously.

"I'll go tell her." Gatsby rose up and walked away from the table to go make a call to Mrs. Jackson. I was left there with Mr. Wolfsheim and awkwardly took another sip of my coffee. Thankfully it was cool now.

"Fine fellow isn't he? Handsome to look at. The prefect gentlemen."

"Don't forget war hero." I added.

"Have you seen his metals?" He asked peculiarly. I shook my head.

"I have." He seemed proud. "He's a very impressive young man."

"So you've known him a long time?"

"I met his acquaintance just after the war on a friend's bout. Dan Cody. Dan was a man you died twelve million dollars in debt. Do you know how special a man has to have that much debt?"

I looked down at the white table cloth trying to understand what had just been said.

"I see your looking at my cuff buttons."

I hadn't been looking at them, but I was now.

"Ivory?"

"Human molars." He informed me.

"Oh, um...how unique." I said half-heartedly. Mr. Wolfsheim gave me a look that said that he had not found my response likable and that I may have crossed an invisible line. Finally, Gatsby had returned and told Mr. Wolfsheim that they would meet with Mrs. Jackson at three. Mr. Wolfsheim told Gatsby that he would meet him there and he left.

"He becomes very sentimental sometimes." Explained Gatsby, "This is one of his sentimental days. He's quite the character around New York-a denizen of Broadway."

"Who is he, anyhow, a dentist?"

"Meyer Wolfsheim? No, he's a gambler." Gatsby hesitated, and then added coolly. "He fixed the 1919 world series."

"Fixed the World Series?" I repeated.

The idea staggered me. I remembered, of course, that the World Series had been fixed in 1919, but if I would have thought of it at all I would have thought of it as a thing that merely happened, the end to some inevitable chain. It never occurred to me that one man could start to play with the faith of fifty million people.

"How did he do that?" I asked after a minute.

"He saw the opportunity."

"Why is he not in jail?"

"They can't get him. He's a smart man."

I insisted on paying the check but Gatsby politely paid anyway. As the waiter brought Gatsby's change I caught sight of Tom Buchanan across the crowded room.

"We really need to go." I told Gatsby as I quickly pushed in my chair.

I glanced back up and saw Tom suddenly five inches away from us.

"Where have you been?" Tom demanded eagerly.

"This is Mr. Gatsby, Mr. Buchanan."

They shook hands briefly, and a strained unfamiliar look of embarrassment came over Gatsby's face.

"How've you been anyhow?" Tom demanded of me. "I haven't seen you since…well...in a while."

"Good, just been busy, you know looking for a job and all. I'm here having lunch with Mr. Gatsby."

I turned over to look at Gatsby but he was gone. I looked all around the room for him but he was no where to be found. Out of the corner of my eye I caught a figure in white making his way out the front door, pushing hurriedly through crowds of people.

"Sorry, but I really must be going." I told Tom as I rushed out of the coffee shop to follow Gatsby to his car. He started the car and I barely made it inside before we sped off.

"What was that all about?" I questioned. My hands were digging in the sides of my seat as Gatsby did what I assumed was at least forty miles over the speed limit.

"Don't worry about it." Gatsby yelled over the roar of the car's engine. "So about this favor…" He said, changing the subject.

"Ask away."

And with that began the story of Gatsby and Daisy. Gatsby began his request with first almost every detail of how the pair met. He explained to me that after he went off to war that Daisy soon slipped back into her rich and full life. When the war ended a year had passed without a word from Gatsby and she had given up hope of his return. Gatsby explained that Daisy had found his number and called him the day before her wedding night in tears. She told him about Tom but said that she did not want to marry him and that she regretted not waiting for Gatsby. She asked Gatsby if he would take her back. Gatsby eagerly told her that he had been waiting for the right time to ask for her hand but now wasn't it. He begged for her to wait just a while longer but she said that she couldn't wait for him any longer and hung up. That next day she went on to marry Tom. I wanted to ask Gatsby why he was not ready to steal Daisy away then and there but I figured that he would tell me another time.

Once his story was through we had arrived back at my home.

"You see, Nicole. The reason why I'm telling you all this is because I want you to know that Daisy and I have a very complicated passed. She means very much to me and I would do anything for the chance to see her again. So I was hoping that you could set up something at your home so that the two of us can talk without her feeling pressured."

"Pressured into what exactly? Leaving Tom to be with you?" I pressed. Gatsby looked at me seeming somewhat shocked but my words.

"It's not that simple..." Gatsby muttered. His strong hands gripped the steering wheel tightly as he spoke. "I need to show her that I I'm ready to be with her."

"What if she's never ready to be with you?" I asked him curiously. "What if that phone call before the wedding was your last chance?"

Gatsby starred off to the bay. Looking exactly where the green light would be shinning if the sun was not out. He brought his hand to his face to pinch the bridge of his nose like you would to relieve a headache. It was like my words had hit him like a cold splash of reality that he did not want to accept. I softly placed my hand on his shoulder for comfort. Gatsby suddenly turned back to me and pulled my small pale hands together to fit between his. I desperately wanted to look away from the intenseness of his blue eyes but he had me trapped in his grasp and he was leaning in so close.

"Daisy is ready." He told me. "She's just caught up in this fantasy of loving Tom to compensate for us not being together. If you give me the chance I will prove to you and anyone else that she never loved the man. It's always been me, Nicole. Just give me a chance."

"I'll have to think about this Mr. Gatsby." I whispered this, almost afraid to say it. Gatsby simply nodded solemnly and pulled away from me. I felt my body relax each muscle that had tensed up. My heart was racing

"You know where to find me." He said not looking at me but again at the bay ahead. I quickly made my way out of the car and into my home. I peeked from behind my curtains and watched as his car pulled out of my dirt driveway.

"Have a good time?"

I felt my heart skip a beat and I subconsciously felt my whole body do a one eighty. Straight ahead was Jordan Baker lying on my old, sunken in couch. She was smoking a cigarette and had apparently poured herself a glass of wine from a bottle that my mother had given me as a gift before I moved to New York.

"Please, make yourself at home." I told her sneeringly.

She rolled her eyes and took another puff of her cigarette. "I asked you a question."

"It was fine, I guess."

Jordan raised the back of her hand and placed lightly upon her forehead in a dramatic pose. "You're telling me that your time with the great and powerful Gatsby was not one of pure joy and astonishment?"

I made my way over to my kitchen sink and poured myself a glass of water. "So, he told you about Daisy." I said before taking a drink. It was more of a statement than a question.

"I find it odd that that I didn't realize it right away but the night I first met you Daisy came into my room after you left and asked me about Gatsby. After I described him she said that he must be someone she knew." I could hear Jordan pouring herself another glass of wine. "They met when the pair was just a little older than you. They had run with different crowds but somehow Gatsby has made his way into her life. I remember one day they sat in Daisy's car just talking to each other for hours. Gatsby looked at Daisy in that way that every woman wants a man to look at her."

"What a strange coincidence." I thought aloud.

Jordan laughed slightly. "It's not a coincidence at all. The huge mansion, the flashy suits and large parties are all things that Gatsby half expected to draw Daisy to him. He hoped that one day she would wonder into his home one day but it never happened."

I felt something click in my head. "Gatsby bought that house so that Daisy would be right across the bay."

I glanced over to Jordan and saw her smile. "Exactly." She slurred.

"He sent you here to convince me to invite Daisy over so he could make his move, didn't he?"

"You catch on quick."

I felt my blood race through my body as I tensed up in anger. "Why doesn't he have you do all this? I hardly know either of them at all and now their futures are placed on my shoulders."

"He wants her to see his house, Nicole." She told me. "And you live right next door."

I almost dropped my glass of water when I suddenly heard a horrible muffled scream come from Jordan. I looked at her and watched as she cried helplessly into her hands.

"Jordan…" I slowly walked up to her and looked into her sorrow filled eyes. "What's wrong?"

Jordan faked a smile in an attempt to act nonchalant about the matter. Now that I was close enough to her I could smell the stench of alcohol on her breath. She was drunk. "No, I'm sorry, Nicole. I don't know what came over me. I guess that I'm just a little depressed about dropping out of the West Chester Golf Tenement." I sat next to her and handed her my glass of water.

"Why'd you drop out?" I asked her.

"A catty accused me of improving my line." She refused to look at me as she said this and I decided not to ask her if it was true. Shortly after finishing her water and talking more about Daisy and Gatsby I allowed Jordan to fall asleep on my couch. I brought her a spare blanket and turned off the lamp next to her. I decided to go outside and I spent a good couple of hours thinking as I looked across the water. The sun was beginning to set and I watched as the green light ahead of me flickered. I had made my decision.

A butler greeted me at Gatsby's doorstep. Before he led me in to see Gatsby I noticed that the house was still covered in lines upon lines of white lights. I soon found myself what seemed to be Gatsby's home office. The door was shut behind me; and Gatsby and I were left alone.

"Your home looks like the World's fair." I told him.

"Does it?" He turned his eyes towards his window to look outside absently. "We really didn't eat anything earlier. Let's go to Coney Island."

"It's too late."

"Well, suppose we take a plunge in my swimming pool? I haven't used it all summer."

"I've got to go to bed."

"All right."

He waited, looking at me with suppressed eagerness.

"I'll call up Daisy tomorrow to come over for tea. What day would best suit you?"

"No, what day best suites you?" He corrected me. "I've put you through enough trouble."

"How about the day after tomorrow?"

He considered this for a moment, then with reluctance:

"I want to get the grass cut." He said.

I recalled Gatsby's grass had just been cut at eight this morning. The noise had woken me up and almost caused me to march up to Gatsby's house and give him a piece of my mind. I suspected that he was talking about my grass.

"There's another little thing." He said, uncertainly and hesitantly.

"Should we schedule this for another day?" I asked.

"Oh, it isn't about that. At least-" He fumbled with his words. "Why, I thought-why look here, you're having trouble finding a job, right?"

"Yes I am."

"Well, I thought that you wouldn't mind me making a few phone calls to some people I know. You're a writer correct?"

I nodded. "Trying to be."

"I happen to be close with the editor at New York Times. If you let me I can make a call and put in a good word for you."

I'm not sure what came over me but suddenly I was in Gatsby's arms, embracing him in a tight hug. I felt his body tense up and I quickly pulled away.

"Thank you very much." I muttered. I couldn't help but blush in embarrassment.

"Don't mention it."

Gatsby stood there and waited for a moment longer, hoping that I would begin a conversation, but I was too absorbed to be responsive so he unwillingly walked me back to his front door. I thanked him again for his kindness but he assured me that it was nothing and that he was happy to do it.

Before I could walk away I was stopped, captivated by the way Gatsby was looking at me. He seemed sad to watch me go. Like, I was his only friend in the world. I watched as Gatsby gently ran his thumb across my lower lip.

"Women who have so much natural beauty shouldn't wear this much makeup."

I knew that he didn't mean anything by this but I couldn't help feel my heart beat a little faster at his touch. I left Gatsby's house that night feeling light-headed and happy. I think I walked into a deep sleep as I entered my front door. So I did not know if Gatsby went to Coney Island or if he ever took down all of those lights. I awoke and found that Jordan was gone. I called Daisy that next morning and invited her to some to tea.

"Don't bring Tom." I warned her.

"What?"

"Don't bring Tom."

"Who is 'Tom'?" She asked innocently.

* * *

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	5. Million Dollar Man

Gatsby's smile was one of those rare smiles that held the quality of total reassurance in it. It faced the whole world and then it concentrated on you as you would like to believe in yourself. Precisely at that point it vanished. And you were looking at an elegant young ruff neck. A year or two over thirty, his elaborate formality of speech just missed being absurd.

Leaving nothing to chance, Gatsby turned my modest cartage into a green house. He had waited years just so he could come over to a neighbor's house and accidently bump into Daisy. The meeting was to be spontaneous. I sat silently on my couch as I watched Gatsby pace back and forth across my living room. My home smelt like a woman who had sprayed way too many perfume samples on herself. The aroma was overwhelming and frankly, so was Gatsby.

"Is this all alright?" Gatsby asked eagerly.

"You mean the grass? It's fine." At one o'clock this afternoon a man in a long red rain coat had been sent by Gatsby to cut my grass. He was an older man with thin legs and a slightly hunched back. I walked over to Gatsby's with an old newspaper over my head to shield me from the rain. I told him that this was all unnecessary. He assured me that I shouldn't worry about it and sent me on my way back home. The least I could do was invite the old man inside once he had finished. He was raising his grandchildren just outside the city and was trying to make some money' he had told me. I made him some hot coffee and called him a cab home.

"What grass?" He inquired blankly. "Oh, the grass in the yard." He looked out the window at it for a moment but I don't believe that he saw a thing. "Looks very good." He said vaguely.

I watched as he began to tug and pick at his tie. I wondered if he was going to hyperventilate.

"Is this tie to much?" He demanded from me.

I gave him ridiculous look. "No, it's very nice and gold."

He nodded, seeming to accept my answer. We then waited silently for Daisy to arrive and Gatsby kept his eyes on the dirt path from my window. Seconds had passed as he watched and then he yelled in total defeat:

"She's not coming! It's too late!" He looked at his wrist watch as if there was some pressing demand on his time elsewhere.

I looked at my small wooden clock that sat on top of my fire place. I almost rolled my eyes. "It's two minutes to four."

He looked at me for a moment and then sat down miserably, as if I had pushed him and simultaneously there was the sound of a motor turning into my driveway. Gatsby suddenly jumped out of his seat, causing me to jump. I quickly made my way out to the yard and greeted Daisy with a large umbrella. Daisy looked at me with a bright smile.

"Come back in an hour, Ferdie!" Daisy called back to her driver as we made our way to my door. Then in a grave murmur she said: "His name is Ferdie."

We went inside. To my surprise my living room had been deserted.

"Well, that's funny." I thought aloud.

Daisy ignored my comment and made her way through my home as if it were a dream. She admired each flower that she passed as she made her way into my living room. I heard a faint knock come from my front door. I opened it and saw Gatsby standing there in a puddle of water with his hands in his pockets. His eyes glared tragically into my eyes.

"You can do this." I whispered to him with as much confidence as I could.

Gatsby's eyes, still filled with fear slowly began to brighten up. He smiled at me slightly and then suddenly pulled me into a cold-wet embrace.

"Thank you for everything. You're a great friend." He said into me ear before he stalked off into the living room. I felt a strange knot in my stomach form and twist tightly.

I followed Gatsby into the room and I found Daisy sitting on my couch gazing outside the window. When she turned around to speak to me the most peculiar look came across her face when she noticed Gatsby. I had half expected Daisy to be somewhat happy to see Gatsby again but instead in her eyes was fear. Not the same fear that I had seen when I looked at Gatsby but the same kind of fear you may have when you're outside and a buzzing bee decides to get too close and you're afraid it will sting.

"Daisy this is Mr. Gatsby..." I introduced hesitantly.

"We've met." Daisy muttered. "But it was a long time ago."

"Thirteen years to be exact." Gatsby added almost bitterly as he rested his arm on the top of my fire place. I awkwardly glanced back and forth between the two. Gatsby picked up my old wooden clock and began to mess with it.

Daisy finally broke the silence. "Jordan says that she's been seeing a lot of you lately. She speaks very well of you and for Jordan that's saying a lot."

I looked back over at Gatsby waited for him to speak. After all it had been over a decade since the pair last spoke, I figured he's have a lot to say but instead he still played around with my clock.

"I have to admit, I would have never thought that I'd hear that." I admitted. Daisy laughed awkwardly.

"Tom was a complete beast to her last week-" Daisy began to say but was interrupted by the sound of my clock falling to the hard floor. Gatsby clumsily rushed to bend over and pick it up. He placed it back on the shelf and brought his hand to his hair, brushing it back out of his face.

"Sorry." He said quickly, looking down at his shoes.

"She borrowed his car." Daisy began again, ignoring Gatsby. "He accused her of leaving it out in the rain with the top down. Can you imagine?"

"Jordan would never be so careless. You can ask any catty." I joked with a smile. Daisy laughed again, this time genuinely. I looked back at Gatsby again and watched for a couple of seconds as he silently looked out the window at the rain. I didn't know what to do so I decided to go grab the tea.

"I'll be right back." I told them. They both looked at desperately, Daisy silently begging me to stay while Gatsby was a bit more vocal. He followed me into the kitchen. Daisy could not see us because each room was sectioned off into rooms. It often made me feel claustrophobic.

"This is a complete disaster." Gatsby exclaimed as I placed the tea cup onto a silver tray.

"You're fine. You're just embarrassed. Daisy's embarrassed."

"Daisy's embarrassed?" He repeated incredulously.

"Just as much as you are."

"Don't talk so loud." He warned.

"You're acting like a little boy." I broke out impatiently. "Not only that, but you're rude. Daisy is sitting out there all alone."

Gatsby stood there for a moment and then looked at me. "You're right."

And just like that he went back into the other room. I walked into my bedroom and flopped face down into my bed. I knew if I had followed Gatsby back into the room that Daisy would only avoid him and make small talk with me. I'm not sure what came over me but I soon fell asleep. I dreamt of a time when I was dating a boy that went to my High School. In this dream we laughed and I played him music from my black grand piano. But as the dream ended so did we. Just like it happened two years ago he left for college leaving me in Chicago heart broken. I'm not sure why I had dreamt this. I knew that I was completely over him but when I woke up I felt like I had been dumped all over again.

I walked out into the living room and hurriedly looked at the clock that hung from my wall, seeing as the one on my fire place no longer worked. I had only slept about a half hour. After making every possible noise in the kitchen, short of pushing over the stove — but I don't believe they heard a sound. They were sitting at either end of the couch, looking at each other as if some question had been asked, or was in the air, and every vestige of embarrassment was gone. Daisy's face was smeared with tears, and when I came in she jumped up and began wiping at it with her handkerchief before a mirror. But there was a change in Gatsby that was simply confounding. He literally glowed; without a word or a gesture of exultation a new well-being radiated from him and filled the little room.

"Oh, hello, Nicole," He said, as if hadn't seen me for years. For a second I thought that he was going to shake my hand.

"It's not raining anymore."

"Has it?" When he realized what I was talking about, that there were twinkle-bells of sunshine in the room, he smiled like a weather man, like an ecstatic patron of recurrent light, and repeated the news to Daisy. "What do you think of that? It's stopped raining."

"I'm glad, Jay." Her throat, full of aching, grieving beauty, told only of her unexpected joy.

"I want you and Daisy to come over to my house," he said, "I'd like to show her around."

"You're sure you want me to come?"

"Absolutely,"

Daisy went up-stairs to wash her face — too late I thought with humiliation of my towels — while Gatsby and I waited on the lawn.

"My house looks well, doesn't it?" he demanded. "See how the whole front of it catches the light."

I agreed that it was splendid.

"Yes." His eyes went over it, every arched door and square tower. "It took me just three years to earn the money that bought it."

"I thought you inherited your money."

"I did." he said automatically, "but I lost most of it in the big panic — the panic of the war."

I think he hardly knew what he was saying, for when I asked him what business he was in he answered, "That's my affair," before he realized that it wasn't the appropriate reply.

"Oh, I've been in several things," he corrected himself. "I was in the drug business and then I was in the oil business. But I'm not in either one now."

Before I could speak another word, Daisy came out of the house and two rows of brass buttons on her dress gleamed in the sunlight.

"That huge place there?" she cried pointing.

"Do you like it?"

"I love it, but I don't see how you live there all alone."

"I keep it always full of interesting people, night and day. People who do interesting things. Celebrated people."

Gatsby lead us though the yard to the dock. I took a deep breath. I loved the way the cold air felt in my lungs.

"If it wasn't for the mist we could see your home across the bay," said Gatsby. "You always have a green light that burns all night at the end of your dock."

Daisy put her arm through his abruptly, but he seemed absorbed in what he had just said. Gatsby soon snapped out of his daze and walked Daisy, arm in arm, inside his home. I followed hesitantly, feeling a bit out of place with the pair. The three of us walked through large glass doors that led to what I assumed was his bedroom. I began to walk about the room, examining various objects in the half darkness. A large photograph of an elderly man in yachting costume attracted me, hung on the wall over his desk.

"Who's this?"

"That? That's Mr. Dan Cody."

The name sounded faintly familiar.

"He's dead now. He used to be my best friend years ago."

There was a small picture of Gatsby, also in yachting costume, on the bureau — Gatsby with his head thrown back defiantly — taken apparently when he was about eighteen. It was odd seeing Gatsby at my age. But somehow it made him seem more human.

"I adore it," exclaimed Daisy. "The pompadour! You never told me you had a pompadour — or a yacht."

"Look at this," said Gatsby quickly. "Here's a lot of clippings — about you."

They stood side by side examining it. I was going to ask to see the rubies when the phone rang, and Gatsby took up the receiver.

"Yes. . . . well, I can't talk now. . . . I can't talk now, old sport. . . . I said a small town. . . . he must know what a small town is. . . . well, he's no use to us if Detroit is his idea of a small town. . . . "

He rang off.

"Come here quick!" cried Daisy at the window.

The rain was still falling, but the darkness had parted in the west, and there was a pink and golden billow of foamy clouds above the sea.

"Look at that," she whispered, and then after a moment: "I'd like to just get one of those pink clouds and put you in it and push you around."

I tried to go then, but they wouldn't hear of it; perhaps my presence made them feel more satisfactorily alone.

"Look at all of these amazing things." Daisy said as she walked around the room in awe. She spent a couple of minuets looking over all of Gatsby's objects. I leaned up against the cream colored wall and looked out the window bored.

"I know what we'll do," said Gatsby, "we'll have Klipspringer play the piano."

He went out of the room calling "Ewing!" and returned in a few minutes accompanied by an embarrassed, slightly worn young man, with shell-rimmed glasses and scanty blond hair. He was now decently clothed in a "sport shirt," open at the neck, sneakers, and duck trousers of a nebulous hue.

"Did we interrupt your exercises?" inquired Daisy politely.

"I was asleep," cried Mr. Klipspringer, in a spasm of embarrassment. "That is, I'd been asleep. Then I got up.. .."

"Klipspringer plays the piano," said Gatsby, cutting him off. "Don't you, Ewing, old sport?"

"I don't play well. I don't — I hardly play at all. I'm all out of prac —"

"We'll go down-stairs," interrupted Gatsby. He flipped a switch. The gray windows disappeared as the house glowed full of light. In the music-room Gatsby turned on a solitary lamp beside the piano. He lit Daisy's cigarette from a trembling match, and sat down with her on a couch far across the room, where there was no light save what the gleaming floor bounced in from the hall. When Klipspringer had played The Love Nest, he turned around on the bench and searched unhappily for Gatsby in the gloom.

"I'm all out of practice, you see. I told you I couldn't play. I'm all out of prac —"

"Don't talk so much, old sport," commanded Gatsby. "Play!"

The man quickly began to play the notes of the familiar melody. It was a cheerful tune and Gatsby and Daisy began to dance around the room. I scooted onto the hard black seat next to the man. I watched as the man's fingers gracefully moved along the black and white keys in awe.

"So you play." The man said.

"Yeah, well…not really-kinda." I took a deep breath. "How'd you know?"

The man smiled at me kindly. His fingers still danced along the keys as he looked at me and spoke.

"I watched you cringe when I missed that note a moment ago." He told me.

I blushed. "You're much better than me, I can assure you."

"Nonsense. Give it a try."

"Oh no, I couldn't." I protested. "I don't want to ruin their afternoon."

We both simultaneously looked up at the couple who were still dancing away.

"I play almost every night for hundreds of people at this same piano. Come on, I'm bored. Give an old man a break."

I debated this for a moment. I knew that I wasn't awful. I had been told many times that I had played very well but I feared that somehow in New York that my skill wouldn't measure up. But then I glanced up at Daisy and Gatsby as they played and laughed in their own little world. They wouldn't even notice.

"If you insist!" I said excitedly. The cheer in my voice surprised me.

The man smiled and stood from his seat and began to walk towards the tall grand stairs to his room. Gatsby and Daisy stopped abruptly.

"Where are you heading off to, old sport?" Gatsby asked gasping for breath.

"I'm tired of playing Mr. Gatsby. But don't worry that lovely young lady over there is well equipped to take over."

He continued his way upstairs.

"You play?" Daisy asked, eagerly.

"Yeah…" I sighed, feeling like a thousand eyes were on me.

"Play for us, please!" Daisy begged.

"A slow one." Gatsby added as he pulled Daisy close to him. Daisy smiled and tucked her head into the nap of his neck.

And so I played. I'm not sure what exact song I was playing. I just played whatever popped into my head. After a while I began to realize that I was playing a song that I had written a few years ago. I remembered it had lyrics but I couldn't remember all of them. As I played I began to sing quietly what I knew and I filled in the blanks with what came to mind.

_"I don't know how you convince them and get them, but_  
_I don't know what you do, it's unbelievable_  
_And I don't know how you get over, get over_  
_Someone as dangerous, tainted and flawed as you"_

I stopped when I looked up from the piano and found Gatsby staring at me. He was still holding Daisy close and her back was to me. I felt my whole body burn from the sudden way my blood rushed through me. Somehow it had seemed that Gatsby had just seen me for the first time. Like I was just a mere piece of furniture in his life but now I was something much more significant. When I broke our gaze I decided to stop singing seeing as I couldn't help but sing loudly.

Too soon the pair had stopped dancing. Gatsby took hold of Daisy's hand, and as she said something low in his ear he turned toward her with a rush of emotion. I think that voice held him most, with its fluctuating, feverish warmth, because it couldn't be over-dreamed — that voice was a deathless song. They had forgotten me, but Daisy glanced up and held out her hand; Gatsby suddenly didn't know me now at all. I looked once more at them and they looked back at me, remotely, possessed by intense life. Then I went out of the room and down the marble steps into the rain, leaving them there together.


End file.
